Fallen Queen
by ImpalaLove
Summary: SPOILERS for 10x21. Written for Otorisosa's May Prompt Writing Challenge. This month's prompts were movie/tv quotes and mine was: "I wish I could trust you." "Trust my rage." -Thor, The Dark World. (plus 10 bonus words).


**Written for Otorisosa-Kan's May Prompt Challenge. The challenge this month was movie/Tv show quotes, and here's my quote:**

 **"I wish I could trust you." "Trust my rage" - Thor, The Dark World**

 **As an additional challenge, we were asked to also include these 10 words:** **dent** , **opposition** , **featherweight** , **flavor** , **frequency** , **dilemma** , **mutant** , **witch** , **arsonist** , **habit (I think I remembered them all this time...)**

 **Major spoilers for 10x21!**

* * *

Fallen Queen

Dean was angry. But it was more than that. It was a vicious snarl on his lips, an unforgiving glint in his eye. He looked savage. He looked ruthless. He looked like an arsonist with an unlimited number of matches curled in one hand and a city to burn to the ground.

He walked toward the closed door of the motel room they had holed up in, neither of them in any condition to drive after what they'd just done. After what they'd just lost.

"Dean, wait," Sam pleaded, trying to grab his brother's arm and pull him back. The flames of Charlie's pyre still burned bright in his mind, but instead of illuminating anything, the image only served to plunge the world into darkness.

 _Charlie._

 _Charlie was gone._

And it was all his fault.

Dean pulled out of Sam's grip with a menacing growl. It came from somewhere deep in his throat and was followed by the stiff rolling of his broad shoulders as he turned to face Sam, voice sharp but heavy with grief.

"Why? Why would I wait? Ch...she...she's…" he stopped talking, ran a hand over his eyes.

Sam thought maybe by this point, he had seen his big brother at his very worst.

He'd seen Dean break under the loss of their father, watched him suffer memories of Hell in stoic silence and a self-destructive collection of habits that had almost ruined them both. Sam had watched Dean give up completely, watched him agree to let an angel take control so that he wouldn't have to watch the world crumble. And then Dean himself had crumbled under the weight of Bobby's death, Cas's betrayal, and the unending stream of evil intent and unsolvable dilemmas that never relented long enough for either of them to truly regain their feet. The frequency with which they had faced the impossible was daunting, unimaginable.

And even then, even through all of that, Sam had never been so terrified for Dean as he was right now. Dean was staring at him as if waiting for an answer to his unfinished question, but it was not a glare he had ever directed at his little brother before today. It was a look that said: _Don't test me._

It was a look that said: _I am out for blood and I don't care if it's yours._

Sam blinked. Dean's eyes didn't waver.

Sam blinked again.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You're sorry?" Now it was Dean who blinked, straightening up a little more. It wasn't until then that Sam realized how low Dean had been crouched; a snake coiled to spring at the opposition. An opposition that just happened to be Sam.

"I'm sorry. I mean if I hadn't involved her...if I had just…"

"Stop. Okay? We're not doing this now. We're not," Dean shook his head, but Sam caught the glint of fury in his brother's bright eyes before he turned away, started heading for the door again. Because Dean blamed Sam. He had every right to, but it still made Sam lose his air for a second. By the time he had regained his voice, Dean was already out the door.

Sam ran after him, spun him around, shoes grinding on the pavement, and was glad to see that he actually still could. Ever since the Mark of Cain, Sam had noticed certain physical changes in Dean. He was stronger, more brutal in his attacks. More reckless. After all, Dean taking on six vampires on his own without an ounce of backup or even a bite mark left on his skin in the aftermath wasn't something Sam could ever really let drop.

When they were growing up, sparring was part of the training their father insisted upon, and though Sam had never truly enjoyed it, he could still remember the pride he had felt the first time he had actually beaten Dean. It had been a few years after he'd finally grown into his long limbs and started gaining some muscle. Dean had been furious.

After that, Sam had realized that his big brother wasn't completely indestructible. It had been terrifying on the one hand, but on the other it had been strangely satisfying. But now, standing in front of Dean in the parking lot of their crappy motel, Sam couldn't say that anymore. He imagined that if they were to spar right now, it would be the equivalent of a featherweight taking on a semi-truck.

So Sam tried for words instead.

"What's your plan? I mean, do you even know where you're going?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even. The knot in his stomach twisted viciously, forced its way up into his throat until he felt like he couldn't breathe again. No Charlie. No air. No control.

"I'm gonna go talk to the witch," Dean declared.

"Rowena? Why?"

"Because if there's anyone who knows more about this mutant-killer-Frankenstein-family, I would think it would be her," he growled, rolling his eyes. Sam could see the angry moisture glistening just behind them.

"Okay. Let's go," Sam said, making his way towards the waiting Impala.

"You're not coming," Dean challenged. Sam ignored him, reaching the car and opening the passenger side door. But before he could even think about sliding inside, Dean was there, slamming the door shut with such force, Sam was surprised he didn't leave a dent in the frame.

"Dean, what the hell?" Sam yelled, but Dean cut him off, those furious eyes still locked on target. The scrutiny was making Sam uneasy, almost nauseous. This didn't feel like his big brother at all. This didn't feel like Dean.

"I said: You. Are. Not. Coming."

Sam tried to think of a response and failed. It wasn't the words Dean said, but the _way_ he said them, tongue grinding out each syllable as if it were natural to sound so harsh, as if he were almost satisfied with the flavor of the words, the coldness in the inflection.

"Dean, you need to be careful. The Mark...I don't know if you can trust yourself to be...I mean, I just, I can't lose you. Please. I wish I could trust you to go in alone, but I can't" Sam tried, attempting to play the card that worked for the majority of their arguments. _You're all I have left. Don't leave._

But this time, Dean barely flinched, his voice somehow even more bitter than before.

"I don't need you to trust me," he replied. "But what you can do? You can trust my rage. You can trust that I _will_ do this. And I won't stop until it's done, until every one of those monsters is dead, burned and buried."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Sam's voice came out as barely a whisper. He searched his big brother's expression, looking for an ounce of give, one sliver of sympathy that he could use to bring Dean back to him. "Let me help you. Let me…"

"Save it, Sam. Don't follow me. You do whatever the hell else you want, but don't follow me," Dean warned, pushing past Sam on his way to the far side of the Impala. He looked up one more time, his face an indistinguishable mask of hard lines and rough edges.

"I'm handling this," he said.

The engine groaned to life.

Sam watched the end begin again, and he could not bring himself to move.

* * *

 **I think we all need a nice vent session right now haha, so feel free to let me know your thoughts on this story and/or the latest episode. I am already feeling incredibly unprepared for this finale. Like, please no.**


End file.
